


A Fine Romance

by Melusine6619



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, New Zealand, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine6619/pseuds/Melusine6619
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fine romance, with no kissing . . . until one night when things change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fine Romance

**Author's Note:**

> I love Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers musicals, and ‘Swing Time’ is my favorite, so I had songs from that in my head the other day. This is the result. With humble apologies to Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields, and Fred and Ginger too. :-)  
> Beta: Ireth and Getty.

“Hey, Vig. What’s for dinner?” 

Orlando closed the door behind him and sniffed the air again. A long day on set had left him with no time to eat anything other than an apple and a sandwich, and the smells coming from whatever Viggo had made had his stomach rumbling in appreciation. 

“Vegetarian lasagna,” he heard Viggo call out from the kitchenette.

“Sounds good. I brought beer.” 

He ambled into the room in time to see Viggo bend and retrieve the pan from the oven. A strange feeling quivered in Orlando’s gut as he watched Viggo test the dish for doneness before nodding in satisfaction. Orlando shook his head in an effort to clear his mind. Stress of filming, he decided as he set the beer aside and went to get out plates and cutlery. He began to set the table in the dining area.

They had fallen into an easy routine, Viggo and he. It had started out with them grabbing a drink together at a bar after each day’s shoot and had progressed to the point where Orlando was at Viggo’s house as often as at his own. There would be dinner, followed sometimes by a movie, but more often than not, it would be followed by long conversations about everything and nothing. Now, eight months into filming, he figured he knew Viggo better than he knew anyone else on set by now.

He knew how much his divorce had thrown him, even though looking back he’d seen it coming. Viggo still cared for his ex, but as good friends now, for which he was grateful, for Henry’s sake more than his own. He knew that Viggo was as bad a prankster as the Hobbits, but he was always professional on set . . . almost always, anyway. He knew that Viggo was secretly somewhat anxious about how he was doing playing Aragorn, though in Orlando’s opinion he had been born to play the part. He knew that Viggo valued his friends and enjoyed going out with them, but he also knew how much Viggo valued being alone whenever possible. 

And yet, somehow, he’d made room in his evenings for Orlando. He hadn’t quite figured out how that fit into the puzzle that was Viggo Mortensen, but he would. Some day. For now he was content with their ever strengthening friendship.

“Thanks, Orli,” he heard Viggo say, and he turned as the older actor placed the pan of food on the table. Their eyes met, and again Orlando felt dazed. Maybe he should go home earlier than he usually would when they had dinner together. He must be exhausted. Why else would he feel trapped by Viggo’s stare? 

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired, I guess.” Orlando sat down hurriedly. “This looks great, Vig.” 

“Thanks,” Viggo murmured, as he began to slice through the steaming layers of pasta, cheese, and vegetables. “Secret recipe.”

“Do I want to know?” Orlando joked. Viggo did come up with some odd combinations of food, but this seemed okay. 

“Probably not,” Viggo quipped dryly, his eyes twinkling. He placed a slab of the dish onto Orlando’s plate. “Dig in.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Vig?”

They had finished half a pan of lasagna and were now sitting on the floor in front of the sofa. Orlando had abandoned his thoughts of calling it an early night, and now they were watching a marathon of old black and white musicals, of all things. He didn’t mind, even if there was more singing and dancing than he cared for. It was nice, as it always was, simply being in Viggo’s company. 

“Yeah?”

He turned his head to glance at Viggo and forgot what he’d been about to say. The older man was watching him, waiting for him to speak. He seemed closer than he’d been sitting when they’d begun watching the movie. Orlando could see every fine line on his face, every fleck of color in his eyes. His own drifted lower to the scar on his upper lip. 

And just like that Orlando’s brain turned to mush.

He leant forward, one hand bracing himself on the floor, the other moving to the back of Viggo’s head. As swift and accurate as Legolas with his bow, Orlando covered Viggo’s mouth with his; it wasn’t even a proper kiss, not really. It was only a fleeting press of lips, a tentative caress, nothing more, but he felt it down to his toes. A sharp intake of breath drew him back to himself. Blushing, he pulled away, scrambling backwards. 

“I’d better go. Too much beer . . .” 

“Orli.” 

“I’ll let myself out, like usual--.” Viggo’s hand caught a wrist, stopping Orlando’s movement and stilling his voice.

“Orlando.”

He opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything Viggo’s lips were on his, and there was nothing tentative about it. Electricity shot through Orlando’s body, jolting his senses into overdrive, causing him to gasp at the intensity of it. Viggo took it for an invitation, his tongue darting past his parted lips to stroke against Orlando’s own slick muscle. He signaled his approval by moving closer, somehow winding up on Viggo’s lap, his legs straddling the older man’s. 

Later he wouldn’t remember how he’d gotten there, but for now it didn’t matter any more than how his shirt had disappeared. There were more important things to focus on, like Viggo’s hands roaming from his back to his hips and then cupping his arse and urging him to move. Orlando obliged by frantically grinding his erection against him like a teenager. 

“God, Orli, you feel good.”

He shivered as Viggo’s breath ghosted past his ear, his stubble sending pinpricks of delight across sensitized skin. He felt good all right, and he was so close . . . Then Viggo murmured in a voice that was deep and sexy and sinful, “Let go. Let me feel you come.”

Orlando lost what little control he had, his body tensing and tightening, and then he was coming hard, loudly chanting, “Oh, yeah. Yeah . . . Fuck . . . Vig!”

He continued to buck against Viggo until long after he’d stopped spurting in his boxers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come so hard, and it had never, ever, felt so good. Now all he needed was sleep. He collapsed on Viggo, snuggled close, and sighed.

“Do you want to clean up?” Viggo’s voice rumbled through his post-orgasmic fog.

Orlando’s eyes shot open as reality dashed back in. He’d just humped himself to orgasm against his best friend. He was pretty sure there was a code about that somewhere, and he had just broken it ten times over. Once again he began to scramble back and away from Viggo. Once again he was thwarted. A strong hand caught his chin and tilted it downward, forcing him to look into Viggo’s face. His breath caught. There was no disgust or anger hardening Viggo’s features, there was tenderness, a little awe, and something else lurking there that Orlando was too dazed to figure out. 

“You okay?” Viggo asked softly.

“Yeah, I think so, Orlando whispered, blushing again. It was hard to concentrate with Viggo looking at him like that. “I’m sorry . . . I don’t usually do that with my friends.” He wanted to say more, but the words that came to mind made no sense. “I mean . . .”

“That’s good to know. I don’t either,” Viggo replied, his own voice shuddery. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” 

“This . . . thing . . .” Viggo closed his eyes, shook his head, and tried again. “We’ve been hanging out a lot together, and it seems to me . . . I’m probably just being the ‘crazy old man’ you’re always calling me, but, it seems to me like maybetherecouldbesomethingbetweenus.”

Orlando’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as he tried to decipher the rush of words. He was too long in responding, however, and Viggo began to push him gently but firmly away. Orlando refused to move. “What kind of something?” he asked, searching Viggo’s face for clues. 

And then it hit him. What he and Viggo had been doing spending so much time together, getting to know each other so deeply, was a little like dating. Like they were in a romantic relationship, sort of, minus the sex. At least until tonight. Was that what Viggo was hinting at, taking it further? He studied Viggo’s expression again, thought of his behavior over the last several months, the touches that seemed a bit long for friendship, the increase in the amount of meal invitations. It didn’t take long for him to have his answer, or at least what he suddenly found himself hoping was the answer. It should have scared Orlando, but it didn’t; it made him almost shout with happiness. Instead, he smiled and softly asked, “You want to date me?”

“Yeah,” Viggo answered, looking anywhere now but at Orlando. “Yeah, I do. But if you think it’s too weird--.”

Orlando caught his chin between his fingers, stopping anything else Viggo had to say by kissing him. It wasn’t long before Orlando began grinding himself against Viggo once more, which reminded him quickly that he still had cum in his boxers, and it really wasn’t comfortable. He stopped his movements reluctantly and drew back. “I think you’re right. I do need to clean up,” he said, smirking at Viggo’s put out look in response to that. He moved back and stood, holding out his hand to Viggo, who took it and let himself be hauled to his feet. “And Vig? I think maybe we’re past the dating point, don’t you?”

Viggo grinned, released a breath and a laugh at the same time. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. If you can stand the teasing from the Hobbits.”

“I can manage,” Viggo replied, laughing softly. He paused, his mirth fading as he stared at Orlando, looked down, then glanced at him almost shyly before clearing his throat. “So, um, how do you feel about staying the night? Too soon?”

Orlando twined his fingers with Viggo’s. “Thought you’d never ask.”

In the background the opening lyrics of another song played them into the bedroom, “A fine romance, with no kisses . . .”

“We’ll see about that,” Viggo disputed, pushing Orlando against the wall and asserting that this romance would have kisses, and plenty of them. And then he began to demonstrate.

Not that Orlando was complaining. Not one bit.

The End


End file.
